


Be Cool

by unamaga



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, John Sheppard is awkward, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unamaga/pseuds/unamaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing between his teeth: check.</p>
<p>Mood lighting: check.</p>
<p>John puts his hands on his hips and does one last sweep of the room. Everything looks good. No dirty socks are hanging out of the hamper, the curtains are closed half-way to let in just enough sunshine, and the laptop is casually positioned on the end of the bed like an invitation. His feet and arms are bare for the same reason, even though it’s a little chilly and his toes are getting cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Cool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amberlynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberlynne/gifts), [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/gifts).



> A little fluff for amberlynne and sheafrotherdon, who had stinky days. Sorry for being massively slow! I hope this cheers you up a little. Huge gooshy love to miscellanny for the beta. <3

By the time Rodney stumbles into the mess hall in search of coffee at half past ten, John already has his room set up and waiting for them: he’s been stocking up on junk food and soda for two weeks, there are fresh sheets on the bed, and the pillows have even been fluffed to within an inch of their lives. It’s probably overkill, and more than likely Rodney won’t notice 99.9% of it unless John points it out (which he is so not going to), so he’s not sure why he’s bothering. Except he hasn’t seen Rodney more than ten minutes at a time for five days running and he _misses_ him; misses his sly, biting humor and his red-faced spluttering and his dangerous hand gestures that have, more than once, led to John cursing and clutching at a watering eye. 

Rodney drops down across the table from him, hunched over the large mug of coffee he’s cradling between his hands like it was something precious. It’s a familiar sight - one John’s grown used to going out of his way to see. 

“You’re up early,” John says, amused.

Rodney blinks at him uncomprehendingly and doesn’t respond. At least, not until five minutes later, after he’s wandered back to the brunch table to get himself a refill and eaten a few bites of his scrambled eggs. 

“Shut up,” he says finally. 

John snorts and stacks his empty plates in the middle of his tray for something to do with his hands. “Busy night?”

“Mmph,” Rodney grunts, and John decides that means yes, even though it’s equally as likely Rodney’s calling him an idiot.

“You should take a day off,” he says with deliberate nonchalance. “Come by my room and watch a movie or something. I’ll even let you pick. All that stress can’t be good for you, buddy.” 

Rodney’s watching him with outright suspicion now, but John’s ready for it with his most innocent grin. He knows it’s working when Rodney drops his eyes back to his plate and starts pushing his eggs around aimlessly, even if Rodney does sound snippy when he says, “Fine.”

Score.

-

Nothing between his teeth: check. 

Mood lighting: check.

John puts his hands on his hips and does one last sweep of the room. Everything looks good. No dirty socks are hanging out of the hamper, the curtains are closed half-way to let in just enough sunshine, and the laptop is casually positioned on the end of the bed like an invitation. His feet and arms are bare for the same reason, even though it’s a little chilly and his toes are getting cold. 

The door chimes, and a second later Rodney’s barging in without being invited, his laptop under one arm, already talking. “I had thought we might watch The Dark Knight, but the bootleg quality was atrocious. I’m not going to squint at some pixilated two hundred by two hundred box for over two hours –” (John’s grown used to this, too, the lack of privacy between them. It’s even started to guiltily feature in his fantasies: Rodney walking in on him fresh out of the shower, sliding gracefully down to his knees and taking John’s towel off with his teeth) “– when there’s no guarantee it will even be worth the eye strain,” Rodney says, settling down on one side of the bed as though he belongs there and opening his computer.

“Hi, Rodney, how are you?” John asks.

“What? Oh, yes, hello.” 

Rodney glances up at him, smiling, and seems to notice John’s state of undress for the first time. His eyes linger on John’s arms, again just above the collar of his loose t-shirt, and the smile slowly changes shape. Pleased, John sits down next to Rodney – closer than he normally would – and kicks his feet up. His toes touch the denim at Rodney’s ankles daringly. 

“So what are we watching?” 

Tapping the space bar to start the movie – it’s kind of cute that he already has it all queued up – Rodney says, “Hellboy.”

Ten minutes in, John’s already lost interest in the movie, busy wondering if it would be way too weird and high school to inch his feet under the hem of Rodney’s jeans, press them against warm skin and just claim he’s cold. Rodney would probably tell him to go get some socks. Or try and have him committed. Maybe he should’ve thought this part through a little more thoroughly. 

“Stop fidgeting, you’re rocking the whole bed,” Rodney hisses. 

“I’m not fidgeting,” John protests feebly. 

Rodney harrumphs but goes back to watching the movie, and in John’s head, this had all gone a lot smoother. Not that he’d ever really gotten this far: usually by this point they’re already half-naked and making out against a wall, and John’s hand is down the front of Rodney’s pants, palm rubbing over the head of Rodney’s cock in tight circles –

“No, seriously, stop it.” Rodney gives him suspicious glare. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

John shifts guiltily. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Right,” Rodney says with deep sarcasm, “ _that’s_ why you can’t sit still. Are you sick?”

“No!” John crosses his arms over his chest, frustrated and trying not to show it. “It’s nothing, I’m fine. Just watch the movie.”

There’s a moment of silence, and John thinks he might have gotten away with it, but when he glances over, Rodney’s watching him, eyes narrowed in thought. Then suddenly Rodney’s struggling to sit up and he’s pointing at John accusingly. “This is your idea of wooing!”

“What? No,” John says quickly.

“It is! You are totally trying to woo me! You, John Sheppard, are trying to woo me, Rodney McKay, with _Hellboy_.”

John blurts, “I fluffed the damn pillows, okay!”

Christ. Way to go, John. 

He figures he’ll only get one chance at this now, so while Rodney’s still sputtering uselessly at him, he takes a fortifying breath, puts his hand on Rodney’s arm, and leans down towards that mouth he’s been thinking about for months. The first kiss is soft and wet, their lips clinging together for a long moment, and then John’s tilting his head and taking another and another, greedily, coaxing Rodney’s pliant mouth open a little more each time until he can taste Rodney’s tongue. He’s dizzy with it when he pulls away; his chin feels raw from Rodney’s stubble, and Rodney’s staring at him with dark, amazed eyes. 

“Oh,” Rodney breathes. “So, this was…”

“Yeah,” John admits sheepishly.  

A warm hand cups the back of John’s neck, drawing him back down, and Rodney murmurs, “Well okay, then,” against his lips, half-grinning, before kissing John so sweet and thorough John feels it in his eyelashes.


End file.
